


Severus and the Snow Globe

by suitesamba



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-01
Updated: 2012-01-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 16:31:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/309811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suitesamba/pseuds/suitesamba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Severus Snape comes to Harry Potter’s specialty shop in Diagon Alley to place an order, both the order—and the price—come with conditions. Is Harry’s price ultimately worth Severus’ dignity? And will each get what he wants under the Christmas Tree this year? A fun romp through the holidays with mistletoe, snow globes and Father Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Severus and the Snow Globe

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Inagural "Secret Snarry" gift exchange in the Snape_Potter Community at IJ/LJ/DW for gift recipient writcraft who prompted "Mistletoe, Snow Globe and the phrase 'When we two parted in silence and in tears.'" The gift recipient also stated she liked happy endings, humor, snark, PWP and fluff. Got it all but the PWP I think...
> 
> No money is being made from this story, which is presented for entertainment purposes only.

_“When we two parted in silence and tears…”_ Harry read aloud in a low voice, trying to count words in his head.

“What? Of course I was silent! We were at a _memorial service_ for Merlin’s sake. And if you were crying, it certainly wasn’t because you were chopping onions. What are you on about, anyway?”

Harry Potter looked up from the scroll he was working on, an ink blotch slowly forming around the tip of his quill.

“Headmaster Snape,” he said, eyes widening in surprise. Severus Snape was, aside from Amelia Earhart and the late Queen Mum, the last person he’d ever expected to see standing in front of him in his small specialty shop in Diagon Alley. Their paths did not often cross and Harry had thus far successfully stamped down the niggling urge he’d had since the five-year memorial ceremony two years ago to ask the man to dinner, begin a formal courtship or jump him in an alley. His success at suppressing the urge came mainly from his inability to decide which course of action to pursue. He was attached to his limbs and various appendages and would rather not lose them to a hex from Snape’s wand.

“Mr. Potter.” Snape’s greeting was not so much a greeting as a statement of fact. He seemed oblivious to his surroundings, the cozy shop crammed full of hand-made snow globes filled with intricate figures hand-carved by Mr. Harry Potter himself.

Harry pushed the scroll to the side, cleaning up the ink with a touch of his wand as he did so. The poem could wait. It was to be inscribed around the base of the piece he was completing, commissioned by currently-interred Lucius Malfoy for his less-than-grieving wife Narcissa. Harry reached out a hand, acting almost mechanically, and waited patiently while Snape slowly extended his own in return.

“Welcome to The Snow Globe, Headmaster. How may I help you?”

He dropped Snape’s hand. The fingers had been curiously warm, despite the less than enthusiastic pressure they exerted on his.

“I’m here to deliver your latest Order of Merlin,” snapped Snape. He shook his head at Harry’s confused expression. “I want to order a snow globe, you imbe…Mr. Potter. Of course that’s why I’m here! Can you imagine for one minute I’d set foot in this shop for any other purpose?”

Harry watched Snape’s face as he spoke. Sweet Merlin he’d forgotten how snarky the man could be. He seemed to speak out of just one side of his mouth and his eyes…his eyes seemed to probe him. He suppressed a shudder as he reached under the counter and pulled out an order form, picked up his quill and filled in the first few lines. Snape’s attempts to intimidate him had stopped being effective during Harry’s final year at Hogwarts when he had returned to school after defeating Voldemort. Not much could intimidate Harry Potter after the year he had just been through. “Do you still live at Hogwarts?” he asked without looking up.

“No, I live in Buckingham Palace. _Of course_ I live at Hogwarts. I’m the Headmaster!”

Harry looked up, green eyes bright behind his round but much smaller frameless glasses. Snape was suddenly and passionately reminded of John Lennon. “Well pardon me, Your Highness.” Snape narrowed his eyes. Potter sounded more … well … _humored_ than perturbed by his sarcasm. Almost as if Snape’s temperament and mood were making him more pleasant rather than less.

“Let’s get on with this,” said Snape after considering Potter for half a moment longer than was strictly necessary. “I wish to order one of your creations for Professor McGonagall. Though it pains me to say this, I would like a Gryffindor theme. Perhaps the snow itself can be red and gold glitter. And do include a lion, and some valiant and foolish acts of bravery—perhaps little children challenging a mountain troll.”

Harry’s quill, which had been moving rapidly across the order form, jotting down everything Snape said as quickly as possible, ground to a halt. Severus watched the tip of the quill as it slowly wrote out “Mountain Troll” and underlined the words three times.

“What size?” he said, quill poised above a line midway down the form.

“What size mountain troll?” asked Snape, being deliberately obtuse.

Harry smirked. This would not do! Severus had not intended his demanding presence and professional snark to do anything but intimidate the young man.

Harry pointed to a display to the left. Five snow globes, ranging in size from a snitch to a quaffle, were lined up on a shelf. Snape eyed them quickly.

“The middle one.” He squinted at the hand-printed labels under each. “Bludger.”

He rolled his eyes. “Does everything have to be Quidditch-themed with you, Potter?”

Harry looked up from the order form and stared at Snape. “Actually, no,” he answered with a smile, then returned his attention to the form and did some quick calculations.

“Real or synthetic gold flakes?” he asked after a time, not looking up.

“Real of course, and please grind up Dorothy’s ruby slippers for the red.”

Harry slowly raised his eyes. Yes, he was most definitely going to have to act on one of those three urges soon. Snape’s voice and personality were short-circuiting around his brain and suggesting interesting things to his cock.

“Right. Synthetic.” He scribbled on the form and paused his quill over a final line near the bottom of the page. “Song?”

“You want me to sing?”

Harry doodled a bit on the line, wondering if Snape’s singing voice was as sexy as his speaking voice. He gave himself a virtual shake and looked up to explain.

“Actually, the snow globes contain a music box. You can choose a song or stay with the default song.”

“Is there an extra charge to choose one?” Snape craned his neck to try to interpret the estimate upside down.

Harry casually blocked the order form with his hand and smiled. “Not at all.”

“Fine. What is the default song?”

“‘Favorite Things’ from ‘The Sound of Music.’” At Severus’ blank look, Harry continued. “You know…raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens?” Snape’s face was still blank so Harry continued, singing this time. “Bright copper kettles and warm woolen…”

“Copper kettles? That’s ridiculous. Copper would react with a variety of ingredients…”

“Kettles, not cauldrons…” Harry sighed at Snape’s glare. “Fine. Is there another song you like or that you think Professor McGonagall would like?”

“‘Send in the Clowns,’” stated Snape emphatically. He had a pleased look on his face.

“Send in the Clowns? You’re not serious…. You are serious.” He stared at Snape then shook his head, pushed his glasses up with his fingers and rubbed his eyes.

“It’s Minerva’s favorite song,” said Snape, looking smug.

“It can’t be.”

“It is.”

“Are you trying to sabotage this gift? How about something from Cats? ‘Memory,’ perhaps?”

“Send in the Clowns. It reminds her of her little lions.”

Harry had a sudden and extremely entertaining image of lions in clown wigs running around the Gryffindor common room. “Fine. But I’m going to personally tell her next time I see her that I’d be happy to change out the music box for something of her own choosing at any time.”

“Excellent. You do that.”

Snape knew he had won that round. Harry shook his head in mock exasperation—or was it mock?—and pushed the order form across the counter for Snape’s signature. “The down payment is 20 galleons with balance due upon delivery of the finished item.” He turned and checked the calendar on the wall behind him. “Let’s see, how about January 28th?”

Snape had been studying the order form, eyebrows raised at the rather exorbitant bottom line. He looked up in alarm.

“January 28th? But this is to be a Christmas gift, Potter!”

Now Harry’s eyes widened. “It’s—” He turned back to look at the calendar again. “December 11th. I have dozens of orders to fill before Christmas.” He looked slightly dazed. “I can’t possibly...”

At that moment, the detritus at their feet that Snape had thus far ignored—several inches of downy white feathers, bits of cotton, fairy dust and white confetti—began to swirl around and with a rather unpleasant gust shot into the air overhead—high overhead—and began to fall down upon them, some of it drifting, some of it raining, some if it scattering, all of it swirling about them and dancing on the drafts of air in the room.

It was only at that point, when Snape’s eyes were inevitably drawn upward, that he realized he was, in effect, standing on the inside of a giant snow globe. The shop had a level floor, like the base on which the scene inside a snow globe rested, but the walls were perfectly rounded. The upper third of the room-globe, in fact, was made completely of glass. He lowered his eyes slowly, glaring at Harry. He supposed he should be happy the snow was blowing around magically and that a giant hand hadn’t picked up the room and shaken it.

“You look kind of cute with fairy dust in your hair, Sever…uh…Headmaster. Sir.”

Harry’s hand slapped over his mouth and his face turned an intriguing shade of red.

Severus’ hand went slowly to his head. He plucked a feather off then looked down at the shoulders. His black cloak was covered in what could have passed for a severe case of dandruff .

“Sorry about that, Professor,” said Harry. “My clients…er…my _normal_ clients, like the…er…snow...”

Snape raised one rather deliciously arched eyebrow. “ _Normal_ clients?”

“Clients that like…” Harry looked around the shop and finished, quite lamely, “…snow.”

“What makes you think I don’t like snow?” Severus folded his arms in front of him and resolutely refused to shake his head to rid himself of the feathers and confetti that were still raining down on them. He noticed then that nothing was sticking to Potter—nothing at all. In fact, it was not even snowing behind the counter.

“Just a hunch,” said Harry under his breath. He took a deep breath. “Listen, do you still want this thing since I can’t finish it before Christmas?”

“Oh, you can finish it before Christmas,” said Severus, unfolding his arms and gripping the counter, leaning in toward Harry, getting a waft of a lovely scent that was either cologne or wood varnish. He hoped he looked menacing and not suggestive.

“Actually, Professor, I can’t,” stated Harry firmly as he tried very hard to not lean his head in and sniff Snape’s neck. “I have priority orders…”

“Every man has his price,” stated Severus, glaring at Harry defiantly without straightening up.

The two men stared at each other a long moment.

“Well, I suppose…” began Harry after a moment’s consideration. His eyes drifted from Snape’s face down to his hands and back up again to meet his eyes. “Though I’m not motivated by galleons...”

“Name your price,” said Severus in a lovely silky voice.

And Harry did.

Because, after all, Harry was a businessman. He’d built this enterprise from the ground up after apprenticing with the German wizard and master woodcarver Uwe Klaws. Of course he could have made delivery of the Gryffindor snow globe contingent on Severus agreeing to go to dinner with him, or to the theater, or even to bed, but he was fairly confident now that he might be able to arrange that on his own without wasting such a golden opportunity. After all, Severus _had_ just sniffed him.

Thus it was that on Christmas Eve, at three o’clock in the afternoon, a rather sallow looking Father Christmas took a seat in a throne-like chair on a raised platform in the middle of The Snow Globe. A throng of children already waited and Severus noted with trepidation that a cluster of them at the front of the line had rather shocking red hair. Hagrid, dressed up as an elf—regretfully, a House Elf with a too-small toga made from a sheet-sized tea towel—patrolled the front of the line.

Severus adjusted himself in the chair and smoothed out the white beard which made him look alarmingly like Albus Dumbledore. The half-moon spectacles Harry had provided with the rest of the costume were perched on the end of his prominent nose.

“I could have done this without the aging potion,” he hissed at Harry, who was standing at the head of the line holding his wand.

“It’s more authentic this way,” answered Harry, mouthing the words to Severus and giving him a ‘thumbs up’ in reassurance. He then placed the tip of his wand to his throat, cast a _Sonorus_ and addressed the children.

“Father Christmas is here and ready to meet each and every one of you. He’s traveled a long way to get here so be sure to thank him for taking the time to visit so close to Christmas. He’s got a special gift bag for each of you—and there are a lot of you so whisper what you want for Christmas, give Santa a big hug or kiss and let the next person in line have a chance. And while you’re waiting to see Father Christmas, be sure to enjoy our free hot cocoa and pygmy puff marshmallows!”

A huge, high-pitched cheer erupted from the crowd of munchkins and Hagrid lifted the first child onto Severus’ lap. The child—red-headed menace that it was—promptly pulled his beard, told Severus he wanted a real live unicorn for Christmas then kissed him on the nose when a voice in front of them called out “Smile!” and a camera—no one had told him there’d be cameras—flashed in his face. Severus’ other elf—this one looking suspiciously like Hermione Granger-Weasley but fortunately wearing a traditional Christmas elf costume instead of a tea towel, handed the child a gift bag and a candy cane as Hagrid deposited the next monster on his lap.

Twenty children later, Severus was immensely glad he’d had two generous stiff fire whiskeys before he’d Apparated over to the store. He had located the mistletoe floating over his head ten minutes into the ordeal but Harry had glared at him with such unholidaylike menace when he’d tried to banish it that he’d narrowed his eyes and endured the utter unhygienic press of sticky lips to various parts of his face. For some unfathomable reason, his nose was the prime target for the little buggers.

Thirty minutes in and the carpet of feathers, fairy dust, confetti and cotton whirled into the air. A chorus of 'oohs' and 'ahs' erupted and cameras flashed from every direction. The child on his lap was so happy to be caught in the impromptu blizzard that she kissed Severus a second time. After that, every parent insisted on tossing the blasted confetti in the air over his head just before his picture was taken with their child. Thankfully, the snow mixture did not show up in his white hair though it did make his beard sparkle.

An hour in and the end of the line was nowhere in sight.

Two hours in and he abandoned his Potter-provided script and began telling children that they were to apologize to their parents for being such annoying, demanding buggers and go to sleep promptly at seven o’clock or risk getting unicorn droppings in their stockings.

Three hours in and he answered “Reindeer” to the question “What do your elves eat?”

Closing time and Severus’ knees ached. His chin hurt from the hundreds of yanks his beard had taken. His nose was raw from the dozens of disinfecting charms he’d cast at it. He was relatively certain that at least one child had wet his pants in fear while sitting on his lap. That damn snow globe he was getting when he left tonight had better be Minerva’s favorite Christmas gift ever and be more than adequate recompense for the unfortunate accident he’d had with her grandmother’s antique tea set when Gryffindor beat Slytherin in the last Quidditch match.

He stayed in his chair after the last child had left, after Hagrid and Granger had gone home to their own Christmas Eve celebrations, after the aging potion had worn off and his beard disappeared and his hair turned black again. He had just closed his eyes and dropped his head onto the cushioned headrest, breathing a huge sigh of relief, when hands and arms too large to be a child’s wrapped themselves around his neck.

“I can never resist mistletoe,” said a soft voice in his ear.

He opened his eyes to find Harry Potter’s face inches from his own.

“Thanks, Headmaster,” said Harry as he pressed his lips to the corner of Severus’ mouth, skillfully avoiding his abused nose and barely, just barely, touching the parted lips. “That performance went above and beyond the call of duty, even with the threats of unicorn droppings and doxie dust. You’ve earned your reward.”

Severus suddenly wished his reward wasn’t Minerva’s snow globe. Of all the bodies that had molested him on his Father Christmas throne today, this one was by far the least disagreeable.

As if in answer to his silent wish, the lips that had teased him with that gentle graze fastened themselves on his again, caressing them lightly at first then with more pressure, the tip of Harry’s tongue pressing against the seam of his mouth as the soft lips moved against his own. His barely parted lips opened of their own accord and his hands, his traitorous hands, moved up to frame Harry’s face as his own tongue responded and he returned the gentle caress with lips and tongue and long fingers carding through wild dark hair.

When Harry’s mouth moved to press a final kiss to the edge of his jaw, Severus nearly shuddered. “I suppose if you are forward enough to kiss me, you can call me something other than Headmaster, Mr. Potter,” he voiced with a long-suffering sigh.

“Well then, Severus,” said Harry, stressing his name so that it sounded like something desired that was just out of reach instead of something to be scraped off the bottom of one’s boot, “why don’t you come into the back room…for some tea? And please…call me Harry.”

The back room was mercifully free of snow.

There was one snow globe, however, sitting on the mantle over the large fireplace beside a red box with a gold ribbon. Harry picked it up carefully and presented it to Severus, but not before giving it a good shake. Gold and red glitter, tiny, fine fairy dust, swirled around the dome and onto a beautifully crafted miniature of the Gryffindor common room with its squishy armchairs and sofas. Severus peered in more closely, nearly pressing his nose against the glass, and saw a lion stretched out on a sofa, three children challenging a troll in a giant painting on a wall, brooms lined up beside the fireplace (if he’d squinted harder, _actually_ pressed his nose against the glass, perhaps used a magnifying lens, he’d have seen name plaques on those brooms—Fitzsimmons, Mackrel, Anderson, Wood, Weasley—all Gryffindors who had gone on to play professional Quidditch). There were miniscule textbooks scattered over tiny tables, open bottles of butter beer, a giant canary (he mentally shrugged— _Gryffindors!_ ) and two redheads, very clearly Fred and George Weasley, surrounded by an army of small Gryffindors, the Pied Pipers and the children of Hamelin.

“I took the liberty of including two songs,” said Harry, reaching under the snow globe and winding a small key.

Severus bobbed his head to “Send in the Clowns” as it wafted out, sounding much less tinny than he would have expected coming from such a small device.

“And the other?” he said as the music slowed and stopped.

Harry smiled, reached under the globe again and twisted a different key.

Severus smiled. He couldn’t help it. He was relatively sure, in fact, that Harry caught the twitch of his lips.

“Auld Lang Syne.” He shook the snow ball and watched the red and gold sparkles swirl and fall.

He was all out of snark.

And if he were reading the signs correctly—and being a gay man of a certain age, he thought he was, though it had been a number of years since he’d been in a similar situation—Harry Potter, standing beside him with his arms folded, head bent to stare at the flittering Gryffindor snow inside the globe, shoulder just barely touching his own, was coming on to him.

He swallowed. Acknowledgement first.

“This is…more than adequate.”

Harry beamed and edged fractionally closer to him. “More than adequate” from Severus Snape equated to “exquisite” in anyone else’s parlance. “Thank-you, Severus. Do you think she’ll like it?”

“Why don’t you come with me and find out?” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, though he tried near the end and the last two words sounds more like “fart” than “find out.”

Harry raised his eyes to look at the clock on the wall.

“You have plans already.” Of course. It was Christmas Eve.

“I don’t have any plans,” said Harry, taking the snow globe from Severus and placing it carefully in the red box with the gold ribbon. He handed the box to Severus and looked at him expectantly. “Shall we Floo?”

Severus straightened his posture, eyed Harry speculatively then nodded his head. He took a handful of Floo powder from the box Harry offered, tossed it into the flames, spoke “Great Hall, Hogwarts,” stepped into the fire and whirled out of sight.

Harry reached up onto the mantle for a second box, smaller than the first but shaped just the same, this one green with a silver ribbon. He tucked it into his pocket, took a deep breath and followed Severus home.

~*~

 

 _Why snow globes, Harry? Hermione moved from one to the next, picking some up, peering inside, smiling._

 _Harry didn’t answer. His mind went back to the little boy he used to be, in London for the day with the Dursleys, standing in front of a Christmas display at Harrod’s, holding up a snow globe with a magical castle and a golden carriage drawn by mice instead of Thestrals, holding it to his ear as the music box played for him, for him, only for him._

 _Someday my prince will come…_

 __

-The End-


End file.
